


one, two, breathe

by ninash



Series: the strongest sense [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha Talia Hale, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Empath Stiles Stilinski, Especially Peter, Growing Up Together, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Hale Fire, Researcher Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Witches, Young Stiles, all the hales love Stiles, even as a youngin, stiles has a vision, stiles makes google his bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:04:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninash/pseuds/ninash
Summary: Empaths are cursed with great power and most don’t know it. Stiles never had anyone to tell him that he was an empath but he knew what he could feel was not all human. Stiles always thought that he couldn’t be the only one who was special. Turns out he was right.





	one, two, breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I suggest you check out part one first. It lists what emotions go with each smell/taste and will make this a little easier to understand.

Stiles is five the first time it happens. 

He and his mom are at the market picking up a few things for dinner that night. Stiles was seated in the cart with a wide smile on his face. A stuffed animal clutched in his hands as he babbled on to his mom. Claudia would smile and nod her head. She had already been diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia a year ago. They were handling things as well as they could without Stiles knowing. Stiles is telling her about the pretty redhead in his class when they pass and isle. Claudia glances over at the mother trying to calm her screaming daughter. The little girl’s face is red and her eyes a screwed shut as big, fat, angry tears spill down her face. Snot dripping from her chin. Claudia gives the woman an understanding smile even if she doesn’t see it. She turns back to her son who had gone quiet. Claudia stops pushing the cart when she see’s Stiles has tears running down his face. His lips are slightly parted and his brows pinched together. Claudia cups her son’s face with her hand and whispers his name. 

“Stiles, baby what’s wrong?” She asked in a hushed tone. 

He shakes his head and quickly wipes away the tears spilling down his face. His cheeks pinken under his ministrations and he snuffles. 

“Nothing.” He says in a slightly muffled voice and goes back to talking about Lydia Martin and how beautiful she is. 

-

Stiles is six when his parents sit him down. 

They tell him Claudia is very sick. But his mom doesn’t look sick. She looks tired, but she doesn’t look sick. They say a big word that will take years for Stiles to understand. To understand that word was his mothers' death sentence. They explain to Stiles that his mom has to go to the hospital and stay there so that she can get better. They don’t tell him that she won’t get better. That this is the last time he’ll see his mom in the house he’ll grow up in. The last time he’ll see her dressed in something that isn’t a hospital gown. Stiles nods his head and tries to follow what his parents are saying. That even though his mother is going away it’s not like he won’t ever see her. 

When his parents look at each other he swears he can smell muffins but his throat burns so bad that he coughs twice. He rubs at his throat as his dad asks if he’s okay. He’s not okay. But he lies anyway. 

-

Stiles is seven when he tries to tell his mom about his abilities. 

His mom has been in the hospital for six months now and she’s starting to show the sickness. The insomnia isn’t bad but dark circles are starting to form under her eyes. Her skin is pale from lack of sunlight which makes the circles stand out even worse. Her brown hair looks dull under the hospital light. 

Claudia is sitting crossed legged with pillows propped behind her back. Stiles mirroring her positions across from her. They’re playing go-fish when Claudia reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of his face. Her fingers brush his forehead and his mouth is filled with a sour taste. He clamps down on his tongue and swallows hard. His spit hurts going down and his lungs ache. His face much show it because Claudia sets down her cards and cups his face with her hands. 

“Honey what’s wrong?” She brushes his cheek with her thumb.

“You taste like warheads.” He chokes out on a cough. Claudia's hands drop and the taste in his mouth starts to go away. 

“I don’t understand.” She tilts her head, brows creased. 

“When you touched my forehead,” he taps a finger on his forehead, “you tasted sour, like warheads.” Stiles fiddles with his fingers while looking up at his mom. She stares back at him with a creased face. 

“It happens sometimes. When people touch me. I get these tastes in my mouth or I’ll smell something that isn’t there.” Stiles chews on his lip. He knows he’s not explaining it well but he himself doesn’t even know what _it_ is. 

Claudia chalks it up to Stiles acting out because she’s sick. She tells him not to talk about it ever again. Stiles jerks his head up and down with a nod. He can tell she doesn’t believe him. He knows when a wisp of smoke hits his senses. He rolls his lips between his teeth as the smell goes just as fast as it came. Can still taste the cigarette smoke on the tip of his tongue. Can still feel the burn in his lungs when he inhales. 

They finish the game, Stiles wins. He clears the bed off of the cards and helps his mom lay down in bed. Tucking the blanking around her chin. She smiles at him with heavy-lidded eyes. 

“My little mischief.” She murmurs before drifting off. 

The room smells like sugar cookies. 

-

Stiles is eight the first time his mom forgets his name. 

It had been a bad day. Stiles and his dad sitting in the room with Claudia. The doctors telling John that she’s been in a delusion all day. That she and John haven't married yet. That Stiles hasn't been born yet. Stiles sits outside the room and listens to his mom talk to his dad. When Stiles peaks into the room both of his parents are smiling. His mom smells like sugar and he can taste chocolate in his mouth. When he looks over at his dad he’s overcome with a bitter taste. Like the one time his dad let him taste beer. Overlaid with the taste of batteries. It’s metallic and bitter, a new taste. One he’s never experienced before. He doesn’t like it. 

Claudia comes out of her delusion an hour later. Stiles had fallen asleep in the chair outside of her room. John wakes him and ushers him into the room. They have to leave soon and Stiles hadn’t been able to talk with his mom since they had gotten to the hospital. Claudia looks exhausted and small wrapped up in a thick blanket. She smiles at him and pats the bed. He climbs up with his dad's help before he starts telling his mom about his week at school. He’s excited to go back tomorrow. Say’s he thinks winter break is too long as well as the fact he’s the only one who thinks that. Claudia ruffles his hair and makes a comment about how he’s always loved school. Stiles' lips wobble before he throws himself into his mother's lap and wraps his small arms around her. 

“I love you so much mom.” He sniffles into her stomach. Her arms circle around him.

“I love you too-” She makes a noise in her throat and pulls back. Stiles frowns and looks up at her. He can taste batteries again. His whole mouth fills with the taste. Can smell the metallics. No matter how much he swallows the taste remains. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. Her face is screwed up in a look mixed between confusion and pain. Like she’s concentrating so hard that it hurts. 

Stiles knows what she’s trying to remember. 

“Stiles.” He whispers into the quiet of the room. Claudia stares down at him before nodding and pulling him back in for a bone-crushing hug. 

That’s how John finds them half an hour later. Stiles has dried tear tracks on his face and Claudia is still rocking them back and forth. Whispering his name every five minutes. She's afraid to forget again. 

-

Stiles is nine when he comes to hates his abilities. 

His birthday was a week ago. He was a big nine-year-old now. Getting ready to go into the fifth grade. It’s two weeks into summer vacation and his dad has been swamped with a big case for work. So Stiles jumps on his bike after eating lunch and pedals to the hospital. Half the staff know him by now and just waves as he walks by them with his helmet tucked under his arm. When he walks into her room she looks the same as she did yesterday. Her delusions have been growing violent as she deteriorates. Delusions mixing with hallucinations. Stiles subconsciously rubs at his throat. Last week she had a violent hallucination and had attacked Stiles, pinning his small body down and choking him before his dad had pulled her off of him. Since then she’s been under heavy sedation and in restraints. 

Stiles puts his helmet down on the chair in the room and makes himself comfortable in the other chair that’s pulled up right next to his mom’s bed. He tells her about his day. About the nightmare, he had last night of dinosaurs coming back to life and eating everyone. He talks about the salad he made for dad for his lunch. About the lunch, Stiles made for himself. He tells her every small detail he can think of. The doctors said she can still hear them even under the sedation. Melissa said that talking to her may help her remember who she is. Stiles knows better. Can sense the lie in Melissa’s voice and taste it on his tongue. He still doesn’t know what it is that he is but he’s slowly starting to realize it’s not normal. That other’s can’t do what he can. 

Stiles’s remembers the exact time his mother’s sedation wore off. 

9:05

He was supposed to be getting home but something had felt off the later it got so he waited and waited. He had just glanced at the time when his mom’s arm moves on the bed. Stiles stands up quickly and stares down at her with wide eyes. When brown eyes meet amber a metallic taste starts on his tongue. This one is new. 

Claudia looks up at him and a look of pure disgust and hatred spreads across her face. The scent fills the room and Stiles chokes on it. 

“You aren’t my son.” She hisses at him as she tugs at her restraints. 

Stiles's mouth tastes like blood and cinnamon clogs his nose. He _can’t breathe_. 

His heart is beating too fast and he can’t breathe. 

He stumbles forward and grabs her hand in his. Tears streaming down his face as he struggles to take in a breath. Claudia snarls at him and digs her nails into his hand. He whimpers at the pain but holds on tighter. This is it. This is what he had been feeling. 

Claudia’s struggles slowly die off and she is lying still in the bed. Her eyes stare up at the ceiling. Stiles’s mouth is filled with the taste of blood he isn’t sure if he’s actually bit his tongue or not. His throat is so dry and the air in the room is too thick to breathe. Cinnamon still fills his nose and any air he attempts to take in through his parted lips is cold and scrapes against his throat. Tears are pouring down his face making it harder to breathe as he hiccups. 

Claudia looks over at him. He waits for her to yell at him. Scream her hatred at the top of her lungs. But all she does is smile and her eyes slip shut. It’s a moment of clarity. 

It feels like someone opened a window and turned the fan on. All the smells rush from the room. The taste leaves his mouth and he’s left with nothing. 

_Nothing._

All that’s left is the sharp smell of antibacterial cleaning product and he can feel a chill settle into his bones. The heart monitor lets out a lone single beep telling him what he already knew. He pulls the clip off her finger and works the restraints off her wrists and ankles. 

He sits back down in the chair that’s by her bed and stares at his mother. 

The panic attack hits him full force. There’s no strong scent that clogs his lungs that causes his breaths to come in quick labored stutters. Just pure panic and anxiety. There are no tears that sting his eyes. He can hear his heart beating in his ears, burning hot. His chest hurts from how hard the attack hits him. He’s never had a panic attack before. He thinks maybe this is what dying feels like. Wonders why he doesn’t smell any cinnamon. 

But then a nurse, Melissa he thinks, rushes into the room. She works Stiles head between his legs but he still can't breathe. All he can do is remember the tastes and smell. He knows this one now. Death. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see doctors and nurses rush into the room.

But she’s already dead and there's nothing they can do. 

He passes out a minute later. 

His dad get’s to the hospital a little later. He yells for someone to tell him what's going on and where is his son. Melissa finds him yelling at a new nurse, halfway to tears. She ushers him down the hall to the room they've put Stiles in. 

“He was with her when she passed. I found him holding her hand.” Melissa whispers but Stiles can still hear them. He lays awake on the bed, they're just outside his room. He has no more tears left to cry. There’s an empty feeling in his chest and a bitter taste in his mouth. 

His dad mutters under his breath and his shoulders start to shake. The taste in his mouth intensifies and slides down his throat. Melissa wraps his dad up in a hug and pulls him down into a set of chairs down the hall from Stiles room. Stiles stares up at the ceiling in his room. His hands bunched together in his lap. His right-hand stings when the blanket rubs against the crescent-shaped cuts on his hand. He pulls his hand out and stares down at them. It’s the last thing his mother left him. A strange melancholy feeling settles in the hollows of his bones. 

They bury her on a Thursday. 

A lot of people offer their condolences as Stiles and his dad stand by the coffin. It’s soft-spoken words and sad smiles for the sheriff and pats on the shoulder and hugs for Stiles. Stiles’s hates it. The air in the funeral home is stale in his lungs. His bones ache from being there. Emotion has seeped into the foundation of the building and is slowly drowning him. Whenever his dad tries to hold his hand he shakes off the contact and shoves his hands under his armpits. He wants to leave. The suit jacket rubs against the scabs on his hands and pulls a few of them open. It’s easier to focus on the pain than the emotion’s weighing him down. 

His dad says there’s only a few more people left before they move to the cemetery to lay her to rest. 

The last woman shakes his dad’s hand and offers him a kind smile. She bends down and places a hand on Stiles' shoulder. He flinches back. The emotions are weighing him down like a brick house and he’s ready to crumble. But when her pinky brushes his neck he’s surprised nothing hits him. He looks up at the woman. Her skin is tan and she has soft brown hair that curls a little past her shoulders. Kind chocolate eyes stare at him and she offers him a smile as well. No words. He frowns at her and before he can open his mouth she stands and walks away. 

There’s only a handful of people who stand around the grave and toss roses in as they lower the coffin. Stiles and his dad are the only two left by the time the dirt is laid in and the workers have gone. 

Claudia M Stilinski. Gone But Never Forgotten.

Stiles glances at the cuts on his hand as his dad leads him back to the car. He hopes they never heal.

-

Stiles is ten when his life starts to turn around. 

The one year anniversary of his mother’s death was two weeks ago. His dad was too busy with work so Stiles had peddled out to the cemetery with a small bouquet of daisies and tulips. Cleaning off some leaves and dirt from her grave and places the flowers down. Whispering how much he missed her and scratching his nails along her headstone. His nails catching in the chiseled words on the stone. 

He’s walking through a shadier part of town, it’s a shortcut to Scott’s. He’s looking down at his hand (staring at small paper thin crescent-shaped scars) thinking about his mom when he bumps into someone. A very tall someone who completely plows Stiles over. He falls back, dropping his bike, and landing on his hands. The sidewalk bites into his palms and he winces. Dark chocolate whispers on his tongue and he can just barely smell sugar in the air. He frowns down at the ground before looking up. 

The brick wall he bumped into is an older woman. She’s wearing tight jeans and a very revealing top. Her dirty blonde hair is curled and her face is twisted up into a sneer as she stares down at Stiles. There’s a boy standing next to her. A little older than himself. His face looks familiar but Stiles can’t place it. The smell is coming from the boy. But when he look’s at the woman all he can taste is black licorice and he coughs on the salt that coats his throat. It smells like the sea all of a sudden and Stiles frowns. That’s a new one. 

The woman’s sneer is gone in a flash and is replaced by a smile that makes Stiles shiver. It’s an ugly smile. He doesn’t like it and wants to put as much distance between him and the woman as he can. 

“I’m sorry sweetie. Didn’t see you there.” Her voice is raspy and makes him feel small. Her grin grows wider like she knows the effect she’s having on him. She reaches out her hand to him and he almost doesn’t take it. 

But he does. 

And something new happens.

The woman hauls him to his feet but Stiles is lost in his--her mind. As soon as her skin made contact with his he became overwhelmed with feelings or images? He isn’t sure what to call them. There’s a whisper in the back of his head, the words too garbled for him to understand.

This time it isn’t a taste or a smell but it’s a feeling. He can feel her hate and disgust and her anger. She hates the boy standing next to her. But she’s pretending. And then he see’s fire and Stiles jerks his hand away from the woman and cradles it to his chest. Staring up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. 

She sneers at him again and tugs the boy past them. Whispering freak under her breath as she purposefully bumps Stiles with her hip. 

The two are long gone but Stiles remains. He’s sitting in the grass when the sun sets and his jeans start to dampen from the dew. He’s still sitting there when his dad's cursor stops in front of him and his dad ushers him into the back seat. His dad doesn’t ask. Assumes it’s because of today's date. 

Two weeks later and Stiles still isn’t sure what had happened that day. There’s a tickle and a nudge in his mind that tells him he needs to figure it out. Something that will eventually become normal for him. So in the morning he wakes up early and waits for his dad to leave for work before booting up his dad's laptop. He’s not supposed to go on it but he thinks this is a good excuse. He pulls up google and stares at the white screen. He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be looking for. He taps his fingers against the keys before keying in ‘Beacon Hills, California’. There’s an official site for their town and he clicks on it. It’s boring and filled with useless information trying to get people to visit. But he sees a NEWS tab and clicks on it. There's a screenshot of a really old article with ink smeared words and a blurry photo of a man standing next to the Beacon Hills sign. He keeps scrolling and there's an online article about the Hale family and their efforts to protect to preserve. Stiles recognizes the name. Cora Hale is in his class and she’s downright terrifying. He once saw her rip the head off another girl's barbie back in kindergarten. Ever since then, people know not to approach Cora Hale. Stiles almost scrolls past to article until the picture catches his eye. The side note says it’s the whole family and lists their names as they appear. It’s a recent picture. Maybe from last year and Cora is standing in the front with her arms crossed over her chest glaring at the camera. But what shocks Stiles is when he looks at the boy who is standing behind Cora. It’s the same boy he saw with the evil woman and his name is Derek Hale, Cora’s older brother. 

Then the phone rings. 

Stiles jumps and practically falls out of his chair. He scrambles over to the phone and pulls the corded phone from the receiver. 

“Stilinski residence.” He sings into the phone glancing back at the computer. 

_“Hi Stiles!”_ Scott crows into the phone. 

“Hey Scottie!” Stiles turns his back on the computer and starts twirling the cord around his finger. 

_“Mom got the day off and we were gonna go to the beach. Wanna come?”_ Stiles can tell Scott’s giddy about the trip. Scott loved the beach and because they lived an hour away it was rare they ever went. 

Stiles glances back at the computer and chews on his lip. 

“I wish I could Scott but I have a thing I need to take care of.” Stiles lets the cord unwrap from his finger when it starts to turn purple. Bending the finger a few times until color returned. 

_“Oh. What thing?”_ Scott sounds dejected and Stiles can tell he’s making sad puppy eyes at the floor. 

“Just a thing. Listen Scott, have fun! Bring me back the biggest seashell you can find, yeah?” Stiles walks back over to the computer desk and pulls a legal pad out of the draw and writes ‘Derek Hale’ and then ‘mysterious woman?’ and connect the names with a line. 

_“Yeah Stiles, of course.”_ It was a thing Stiles mom used to do. The garden out back is littered with large seashells of all different kinds. 

Stiles takes that as a goodbye and hangs up the phone. He grabs a capri sun from the fridge and settles back down at the desk. He sticks the pen into his mouth and twirls around in the chair. Stiles pulls the pen out of his mouth and circles ‘mysterious woman’ twice. What were they doing together? 

Stiles pulls the laptop closer to the edge of the desk and reads through the Hale Family article. It’s just a bunch of stuff about them buying more land in the preserve and their ‘efforts’ to protect the forest. He scrolls through more articles. Most of them are just everyday plain news about the bank a town over being robbed and ‘are we next?’. Stiles is about to close the tab when the computer glitches and scrolls to the bottom of the page. It's an article from seven years ago with big bold letters ‘WOLVES RETURN TO CALIFORNIA’. Stiles knows there haven't been wolves in California in over a hundred years. He did a project on the type of animals living in the preserve this past year which lead to a boring scientific journal on wolves not having been seen in CA for a hundred years. But the article he’s staring at has a photo of three crouched figures. One is large, he imagines the size of a fully grown wolf. The other two are smaller. The animals heads are turned towards the camera. At first glance, the photo looks blurred but six months ago Stiles had stumbled upon his mom's old camera which leads to two days of research on photography. The background of the photo was crisp and easily identifiable as the preserve. You can see the legs of the full-grown wolf, people could argue that it was a mountain lion with the way it was crouched but the pointed ears are questionable. Where the face should be is a blurred white spot. A light flare. One this big shouldn't have happened when taking a picture of wolves, even with the flash on. It’s _weird_ but not really of any importance. 

Stiles goes back to Google and keys in the name ‘Hale’ followed by ‘Beacon Hills’. The page loads up articles about some nature preserve in Canada. The next link is the origin of the name Hale. Stiles hums and clicks on it. The name dates back all the way to the 12th century from ancient Britain. Which gives Stiles an idea. He goes back to the Beacon Hills town web page and finds the article on the Hale family again. He enlarges the photo and prints it out. Stiles pulls a red sharpie out of the desk drawer. He circles Derek Hale and then the woman who is standing behind Derek. Talia Hale. Stiles vaguely remembers her as a teacher when he was in kindergarten. 

He pulls open another Google tab and searches Talia Hale with the words Beacon Hills. He gets a very generic bio of who she is. A few newspaper articles with her picture in them. There’s a link to the town's school web page. He finds what he’s looking for in an old article deep in the archives. One with a subarticle mentioning her name once. A small grainy photo of her maybe at the age of twelve with her parents standing behind her. Her mother is holding a young child. There's a small boy peeking out behind the father's legs and another young girl hiding behind Talia. The article isn’t anything important something about renovations on their house. It’s the names Stiles was looking for. Evelyn and Gregory Hale. Stiles prints out the paper and circles Gregory's face with the sharpie. 

Half an hour later and four more printed articles Stiles learns that the Hale’s have lived in Beacon Hills for an extremely long time. Since like the founding of the town if he had to give a guess. He traces their family all the way back to a William Hale. Him and his wife settling down in the preserve which at the time was just a large forest. 

During his research montage, he kept stumbling across articles that would proclaim a wolf sighting in the preserve every few decades. It was weird and almost every article ended up getting disproved but. 

“No way.” Stiles whispers to himself. He opens another tab, at this point there's about twenty open. 

_Werewolves._

“Werewolves aren't real.” Stiles mutters under his breath. 

He leafs through all the fanlore and homemade websites. Reads through a few articles that sound realistic. But then one of them, one of them just feels real. He can’t explain what it is but Stiles reads through the whole web page. It’s poorly made and Stiles thinks even he could do better and he’s ten. But it’s broken into three different pages. Human, Beta, and Evolved. The usual stuff about enhanced strength, speed, healing, senses, etc. There's, what looks like a picture of a journal entry, on the Beta page. It’s written in a different language with a drawing smack dab in the middle. A man with the warped face. There's smudged writing on the margins of the page. 

Stiles pushes away from the desk and spins the chair for a full rotation. The papers he has spread out on the floor shifting a little from the breeze the chair creates. It’s just not realistic, werewolves in Beacon Hills. Stiles tells himself. 

He pulls himself back up to the computer and hesitates to close out the two tabs he has on werewolf lore. He prints out the page with the journal entry and then closes the tabs. Going back to staring at an article of what would be Derek’s great great something grandfather. He stares at the article and zones out. Eyes flitting over the page without really searching. But then his eyes land on a name. Stiles sits up straight and leans closer to the computer. 

“Marcus Hale claims that Julius Argent trespassed onto their property and then proceeded to break and enter their home in the late hours of the night. Hale claims self-defense ending in the demise of Argent.” Stiles reads aloud. Now where has he heard that name before?

“Argent is French for silver, thank you werewolf research but…” Stiles trails off in his musings and then he remembers. 

_“There’s some newcomers in town.” John Stilinski comments to his son as Stiles sits down at the table with a bowl of overly sweet cereal._

_“Really?” Stiles had answered._

_“Mhmm. Man and his daughter. Seem really nice.” John says sipping on his coffee._

_“Are they moving here?” Stiles asked through a mouthful._

_“Just said they were staying in town for a little bit. Nothing permanent.” The sheriff puts his mug in the sink and pats his pockets for his keys._

_“Counter.” Stiles points at where his father's keys are. “What’s their names?” He asks offhandedly not really caring._

_“Gerard and Kate Argent.” The sheriff kisses his son on the head, tells him to be good and head to Scott’s soon, then leaves._

That had been a month ago. Argent, Argent, Argent. So the Hales and the Argent’s had history. That wasn’t a coincidence at all. 

“Hypothetically.” Stiles speaks aloud to himself as he stands from the desk and starts pacing the living room. Holding the page he printed on werewolves. “Hypothetically. If the Hales are a family of werewolves that came to Beacon Hills a long time ago to stay hidden and the Argents are werewolf hunters because hello their last name is silver in French and silver hurts werewolves. And two Argents just showed up in town and mystery woman might be Kate Argent because how can someone be that creepy and not be a werewolf hunter then, then.” Stiles trails off. 

“This is ridiculous! Werewolves aren’t real!” Stiles throws the papers he was holding on the ground and crosses his arms over his chest. 

Stiles plops down on the ground, sitting on top of all the pages he had printed. He inhales deeply and then exhales slowly. His eyes sliding shut. He thinks about the woman--Kate Argent. He goes back to bumping into her two weeks ago. Walks through what happened. It’s when he’s thinking about when their hands touched that it happens. He remembers images and words and the impression of feelings but it had happened so fast that he was sure it hadn’t happened. 

He’s back in the moment but everything is slower. The pictures go by like a slide show. First of a black wolf cub in the forest. Cowering against a tree with it’s ears pinned back. Next, a house in a forest. The smell of gasoline filling his senses. After the gas it’s a scent he doesn’t know. It’s earthy like moss but smokey like ash and soot. He’s assaulted with screaming voices. Thousands of voices just screaming. The last image freezes in his mind. It’s an outstretched hand that appears to be on fire. Fire licking at the fingers and just barely touching the palm. The fire is fluid and violent. Spitting embers and growing high. But the hand doesn’t burn. 

He pulls out of the vision with a jerk and he falls back against the floor. His chest is heaving and he feels like he ran a marathon. His head is splitting in two and his chest feels too tight. His limbs feel like lead and his face _hurts_. He doesn’t even realize his nose is bleeding. 

He needs to know.

Needs to know if he’s going crazy and letting his imagination run too wild. Or that maybe he’s about to save a whole family from he doesn’t even know what. 

Stiles stands on shaky feet. Tears glistening in his eyes. He’d rather go upstairs and curl up in bed and just cry. But he knows he can’t. So he bites back the tears and grabs his empty backpack from the kitchen. He shoves all the papers he’s printed out the bag and zips it up roughly. Locking the front door and grabbing his bike from the backyard he starts peddling to where he knows there's a running path in the preserve. 

By some miracle, he finds the Hale house in the preserve. It’s surprisingly mundane to him. Thinking that werewolves live here so it must be like something out a Bram Stoker novel right? It’s not. The house is large and probably has been renovated multiple times through the years. A large porch in the front with a gravel driveway. Toys were strewn across the front yard and the porch. Stiles dumps his bike near the steps and stumbles up them. His backpack half hanging off his shoulders and his chest heaving. There’s blood on his shirt and smeared on his face. 

Stiles pounds on the door. He needs to know. 

Kevin Hale answers the door. Talia’s husband. Cora and Derek’s father. The man frowns down at the child standing before him. 

All Stiles can think is, _are you a werewolf?_

Kevin drops to his knees in front of Stiles who is slowly working himself into a panic attack. 

“Hey there. It’s okay.” Kevin places his hands on the boys' shoulders and rubs his thumbs into the material of his shirt. 

“Talia, can you come to the door?” Kevin throws over his shoulder. 

Talia comes to the door a minute later. Stiles is still huffing but now it’s because of the panic attack. His vision is blurred by tears. His throat hurts from how hard he’s breathing. His body still aches from the vision. Not to mention the strain he then put on himself by hauling it to the Hales. His nose is dripping snot and clumps of dried blood. He’s a mess. 

Talia Hale nudges her husband aside and picks Stiles up. Stiles violently flinches back but Talia just holds on to him. Cradles his head carefully and hums. Warmth slides down Stiles' throat and fills his tummy. He smells honey. Another new one. Whatever it is, it calms him down from the panic attack. When he comes back to himself, he’s inside the Hale house. Still in Talia’s arms with his hands clenched in her shirt. She’s stepping left to right in a very slow sway. Humming quietly and rubbing the back of his head. It’s not her ministrations that break him from the attack but the emotion she exudes. 

“Are you back with us honey?” Talia’s voice is raspy and soothing. Stiles nods, sniffles and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. He whimpers when he does that, his nose hurts, actually, his whole face still hurts. 

Talia moves her hand so that it’s cradling his neck and Stiles can’t see the black veins run up her arm. She frowns and comes to a standstill. 

“Oh, sweetie. What happened to you?” She murmurs under her breath. She takes his pain until Stiles is loose and sleepy-eyed in her arms. Kevin comes back into the living room with a wet paper towel and a confused Felicia following him. 

Talia sits down on the dark green sectional couch with Stiles perched on her lap. Kevin sits down next to her and gently cleans the blood off the boy's face. Felicia stands off to the side with arms crossed over her chest. Stiles dropped backpack in her grasp. Once the blood is cleaned off his face and he blows his nose, Kevin is the first to speak. 

“You’re the Sheriff's boy right?” Kevin offers a kind small. His body angled towards Stiles. 

Stiles nods his head. Letting go of his iron grip on Talia's shirt. He makes eye contact with the woman and she offers him the same smile Kevin did. 

“Stiles.” He offers with a faint blush on his cheeks. 

“Stiles. Okay.” Talia’s smile broadens. 

“What are you doing all the way out here Stiles?” Talia rubs a hand up his back in a comforting motion.

Stiles chews on his lip and his brows pinched together. Would they even believe him? Were they even werewolves? 

“Um.” Stiles starts hesitantly looking from Talia to Kevin than back at the woman. 

“It's okay sweetie.” Talia offers.

Stiles opens his mouth to speak when the front door opens and someone walks in. All heads swivel to Peter Hale who walks through the hall and into the living room. 

“What's going on?” Peter’s face hardens in concentration and he walks over to stand next to his wife, Felicia. Talia gives him an annoyed look. Clearing her throat and pulling Stiles attention back.

“Go on.” Talia prompts him. 

“I think someone is planning to burn your house down with you guys in it.” Stiles speaks quickly and while staring down at his hands. The scars on his hand catching the afternoon light. 

Stiles doesn't like hot sauce. He really doesn't. But no matter how much he doesn't like it, he can taste it thick in his mouth. The too spicy sauce fills his nose and throat. He chokes on it. His hands going to his throat as he coughs. Gagging on the taste. It's gone just like that and he drags in deep breaths of air 

Talia is rubbing her hand up and down his back again. Kevin rushes in with a glass of water that Stiles downs quickly. 

“Are you okay sweetie?” Felicia asks taking the seat Kevin had vacated. Sitting his bookbag down against the couch. Stiles nods and glances over at her. 

“Why would someone want to do that Stiles?” Talia pulls his attention back.

“Well you guys are werewolves aren't you?” Stiles tilts his head and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. Biting down hard. 

The room goes silent. Felicia looking over at Kevin and Peter. The latter has clenched fists at his sides and is glaring at the wall over Talia's head. 

“Why do you say that?” Talia's tone is even and calm. Neither proving nor disproving Stiles theory.

“I googled you.” Stiles stares at her. 

Felicia snorts and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. Her eyes wide in shock at her own reaction. Kevin has a hand covering his smile and even Peters lips twitch up at the boy's words. 

“You googled us.” Talia repeats back with raised brows.

“Well no, I googled you.” Stiles tilts to the side to grab his backpack and pulls out the papers. They’re a mess and some a crumbled. Littered in red sharpie with notes written in pen on them. Stiles drops the bag back on the floor and flicks through some of the pages.

“I found a photo of you guys on the BH website and then I googled you and found your parents and went back as far as I could find. I'd guess you guys were probably original settlers in Beacon Hills? Either that or your family moved here early on. You guys are mentioned in news articles every few years so it wasn't that hard to trace your family back. But then there were the odd few articles about wolves returning to California which they haven't been in these parts for over a hundred years so most of the articles we're disproved but.” Stiles pauses, taking a breath and flips through some more pages. Finding a chart of the full moons for the last hundred years. “All the articles line up right around full moons so then I looked into werewolves and I found this, which I don't know if it just lures or if any of its true but anyway. There was an article about your great grandpa or whatever killing a man by the name of Argent and you know Argent is French for silver and silver and werewolves don't mix. But two Argents just came into town about a month ago. So.” Stiles looked up from his papers with pouty lips. Talia’s expression was pure shock. All the adults in the room mirroring her expression. 

“How old are you?” Peter asks, his shock melting into a sharp smile.

“I'm ten.” Stiles looks over his shoulder at the man. Talia clears her throat with a pinched look to her features. 

“You are correct Stiles. We are werewolves. Not all of us, Felicia here and my husband Kevin are both humans.” Talia gestures to each as she says their name. Stiles nodding along. 

“What's this about Argents being in town?” Peter steals the conversation back. Sitting down next to Felicia and taking her hand. She was pregnant with their first child. Barely even showing yet. 

“Gerard and Kate Argent. Father and daughter.” Stiles nods his head with a look of seriousness. Or as much as a ten-year-old can muster. 

“How do you know about them and the fire?” Felicia asks with a frown. 

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and looks down at his hands. He hunches in on himself and shakes his head.

“Stiles we're werewolves. Whatever you tell us is in confidence.” Peter clasps a hand on the boys back. Pressing his fingers under the boy's shoulder blade. Stiles glances up at Peter for a moment, then nods. 

“I, um. Ever since I was little. Ever since I can remember I've always been a little _different_. I think I can taste and smell people's emotions. I still don’t understand some of them and there are still new ones but I've been learning.” There's a small private smile on his lips. Like he's proud of himself. 

Peter's lips part a fraction. There's no way-

“An empath?” Talia says aloud. Not really meaning to but too shocked. Peter looks over at her with wide eyes. 

“It's not possible. There hasn't been anyone with abilities that strong in _years_.” Peter stresses the word years. Grinding it through his teeth. 

“Up until yesterday, I didn't think werewolves were real so.” Stiles shrugs a shoulder and mutters under his breath. 

Kevin turns away to hide his smile. Oh, he likes this boy. 

Peter keeps a serious face. There's no way the kid would be able to make something like this up. 

“What did you get off of Argent when you came into contact with her?” Peter asks, taking Felicia's hand in his. 

“It was weird. I was so confused at first because I was getting two different scents. Until I realized there were two people. But they were so conflicting. One was kind and gentle. The other was so harsh. I didn't like her. I _don't_ like her. She accidentally knocked me down and she reached out her hand to pull me up. When our hands touched I got a flash of images and impressions from her. I thought back to it today and I was able to recall them. A scared black wolf cub in the forest. Your house. The smell of gasoline. A scent I don't recognize. Then the screaming. Everyone was screaming so loud.” Stiles eyes well up as his hands cup his ears. Talia pulls him in for a hug. Felicia and Peter crowding in to offer comfort. 

“The last was a hand. It was on fire. They seem like separate puzzle pieces that you'd never be able to fit together but in my mind, I just knew. I knew what she was gonna do. I had to tell you.” Stiles whispers from where his head is laid against her shoulder. 

“Who was the other with the woman?” Kevin asks after a moment. 

“What?” Stiles pulls back and looks over at where Kevin is leaning against the wall.

“You said there was someone with Kate Argent. That the emotions conflicted each other.” Kevin clarifies. 

Stiles sucks both of his cheeks in and makes a fish face. He doesn't want to say. He knows the boy will get in trouble. But maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he doesn't know who she is. Maybe-

Derek Hale walks into the living from the kitchen. Having come through the back door. Everyone turns to stare at him and Derek makes a face. His expression turns confused as he looks over Stiles. Stiles sucks in a breath and points at Derek.

“Him. I saw him with her.” No going back now. 

All heads swing to look at Derek who has some serious eyebrow game going on. Talia moves Stiles off her lap and onto the couch so that he’s facing Kevin and Derek. She stands and takes a step towards her son. 

Because she knows. Kate Argent is the woman he’s been seeing in secret. The wolves knew Derek had met someone and was keeping it a secret. They figured it was teenage love and decided to let him have his fun. Not that it was a _hunter_. She could have never imagined it was this. 

“Derek.” Talia’s voice was grave and the corners of her eyes bled red. Derek flinched back and his brows pinched together. 

“Did you know?” She asks. 

“Know what?” Derek asks in a small voice. Looking from his mother to Stiles who has his knees pulled up. Arms wrapped around his legs in the attempt to look small. 

“The woman you are seeing. She’s a hunter.” Talia growls out. She’s furious. Not with Derek. He’s sixteen and doesn’t know any better but at the situation. Not in her town. Not with her family. Not with her son. 

“What? No, she can’t be. That’s not-” Derek’s voice pitches high in confusion and he shakes his head rapidly. Kevin walks over to the couch and sits down next to Stiles. Wrapping his arm around the boys' shoulders and pulling him into his side. 

Stiles is in sensory overload. Derek is throwing off so many scents he can’t keep up. First, it was like when Stiles dad opened the attic to put away his mother's things. Dust billowing around him and clogging his nose. Quickly becomes the taste of batteries. Metallic and sharp. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. Black licorice is quickly overcome by hot sauce and chili peppers. Alcohol mixes with the taste of peppers and Stiles gags. Fighting to not throw up. He’s crying now. All of the tastes and smells slowly fade away until just one is left. Stiles can’t breathe with how thick the smoke smells. It settles in his lungs and weighs him down. He tucks his head into Kevin’s side hoping something real will overpower the cigarette smoke he smells. It doesn’t. Stiles coughs into his hand ever so often as Talia explains to Derek who and what Stiles is. What he knows and what he found out. Stiles only knows Derek goes to his room when the scent follows him out of the room. 

Stiles turns his face away from Kevin and Talia is kneeling before him. She has a sad smile on her face. She reaches out and cups his face with her hands. She tastes like alcohol and honey. A weird combination. 

“Thank you, Stiles.” She hugs him towards her. The angle is awkward and his face is smooshed in the crook of her neck. But it’s so much like a mother's hug that Stiles eyes well up again. 

“Thank you.” Something hits his shoulder feather light and he realizes Talia is crying. 

-

Stiles is eleven when things have to get worse before they can get better.

Derek still can't stand to be in the same room with him. The others say he just needs time and that Stiles is imagining this but they forget he can scent even their emotions. Whenever Derek walks into a room he's in Stiles senses fill with hot sauce and black licorice. A terrible combination that leaves his chest achy and his nose a bit runny. Derek backtracks out of the room and the smell of cigarettes follows him, making Stiles sneeze. 

As it would turn out, werewolves are harder to read than humans. Especially Talia Hale. Stiles usually can't feel any emotion from her unless it's direct contact. 

Derek’s aunt Shannon has a girlfriend named Olivia. Who happens to be a white witch. When she learned of Stiles abilities she all to readily offered to help him learn more about his abilities. When he was older of course. 

Stiles stops going to the Hale house when he overhears a conversation between Talia, Peter, and Olivia. They are in the library and the door is cracked enough for Stiles to peak in. He can hear their hushed whispers hurriedly spoken. 

“He's just a boy. Barely old enough to be left to his own devices.” Talia hissed. Hands firm on her hips. 

“Yet look at where that's gotten him.” Peter snarled back. 

“Stiles may be young but he's already coming into his powers. If he's been able to use them since he was much younger than that just means his powers will continue to grow.” Olivia cut in. Voice calm and even. 

Why were they talking about him? 

“He's not ready. Not yet.” Talia shook her head.

“When will he ever be Talia? When his power overwhelms him so much that it kills him?” Peter's eyes flicker blue. His fists clenched at his sides. 

“You don't know that's what will happen.” Talia glared at him. 

“There's a reason empaths are as rare as they are. The greater the power the quicker they burn out. Their own power overwhelms them until they either die or their driven to insanity. Which at that point they take their own lives.” Peter started pacing. Slamming his hand on the table in the library at the end of his words. 

Stiles flinches back and his breathing picks up. 

“That's why I think it would be wise to bind his powers now, while he's still young.” Olivia pulls a book off the table. Flipping through it before running her finger over the page. 

“It's a simple spell. I could do it in my sleep. No harm would come to him.” Olivia closes the book softly and places it back on the table. 

“No.” Talia's voice wavers. Resting her chin on her fist. Her eyes losing focus.

“It's either we bind his powers or he dies.” Peter shakes his head with a deep frown.

Stiles stumbles back from the door. Tripping on the carpeted runner lining the hall. The library goes quiet. Stiles turns and runs. He runs from the house, leaving the front door open and jumps on his bike. He pedals as fast as he can all the way home. Where he hides under his bed and cries. Why would they want to bind his powers? What did he do wrong? He was _scared_. 

That's where his dad finds him hours later. Curled in a ball under his bed with dried tear tracks on his face. 

He doesn't go to the Hales and they don't come looking for him. Cora confronts him in school one day where he deflects her questions then avoids her for the rest of the week. 

He's scared they'll take away what he is. He's finally coming to not hate his powers. Not like, but not hate. They had said it was who he was. Why would they take it away? 

Stiles cries himself to sleep for the next three nights. Scared he'll wake and know that it's gone. But it never happens. 

He sees the Hales around town over the next few months. They don't try to approach him and he's all too glad. Cora has gone back to ignoring he exists like how it had been before. Stiles can't help but imagine how glad Derek Hale must be that he's gone. 

It's been three months since the conversation he overheard. It's well into November and Stiles is on break for Thanksgiving. His dad is working overtime so that he can have the day to spend with Stiles, Melissa, and Scott over at the McCalls house. Stiles knows how crazy Melissa can get so he steers clear of Scott's and instead is taking a walk. 

It's a recent thing that he's noticed. Walks help him calm his mind. Ever since he found out about werewolves being real and that he's an empath, he'll find himself going on walks. 

Autopilot kicks in and by the time he realized where he is, he's halfway through the preserve towards the Hale house. Walking on a small barely worn down footpath not many know about. Stiles glares at a rock on the ground and turns violently and starts walking in the other direction. 

Many of the trees have already lost their leaves. Creating a brown blanket on the forest floor. Stiles steps down on something hard and he hears a click. His mind registers the pain first. A shrill scream tearing from his lips. Pushing up from his lungs and burning his throat. It's searing hot and tears through his ankle. He feels it bite into his ankle, blood vessels popping. He's afraid to look. But he knows he has to. 

Fear.

It's a bear trap. Big and mean and covered in his own blood. The metal teeth and buried deep in his ankle. Two minutes pass and the shock weighs him down like gravity. His foot feels cold and wet. Every micro-fraction of movement causing pain to shoot up his leg. But his body tells him to move because of the pins and needles settling into his foot. 

Pain. 

Until leaves rustle to his left and his head whips to the side to see what it is. The movement causes his foot to jar and his eyes snap shut and he whimpers. 

It's Derek. Dressed in a long sleeve shirt with the high school's name printed on it and basketball shorts. He's sweaty and a bit huffy with a frown on his face. He moves towards Stiles slowly and carefully. Standing in front of him and kneeling down. Derek brushes some leaves aside to get a better look at the whole trap. He glances up at Stiles and offers him a small pained smile. 

“It's gonna be okay Stiles.” Derek’s voice is deep and hoarse. He calls his mother and tells her what has happened and where they are. 

“It's okay. Mom and Peter are on their way. You're gonna be fine.” Derek stands and takes Stiles shaky hand in his larger one. Black lines drawing up his arm and a frown marring his face. 

Derek is seventeen now and well into puberty. He's grown a foot since Stiles saw him last. His shoulders are broader and his body is more defined. His hair cut shorter than he remembers. Stiles tastes batteries in his mouth and knows that Derek is afraid. Afraid for Stiles.

“Derek. I can't feel my foot.” Stiles whispers looking down at the iron wrapped around his ankle. 

“It's okay they're almost here.” Derek squeezes his hand and a rumble leaves his chest. Stiles can just barely smell jalapeño peppers. 

“Derek.” Stiles whimpers and hunches his shoulders forward. His hands curl into the material of his jeans at his waist. 

Panic. 

He just wants to pull his foot out. He needs to get it out. He can't feel it. He can't.

“Stiles. Stiles listen to me. I'm gonna open the trap okay. Stiles, it's okay. I'm gonna get you out.” Derek's hand cups Stiles' neck. The other gripping his shoulder. Stiles nods. Tears streaming down his face and his hands twitching. 

“I'm gonna pry the teeth back and you need to pull your foot out okay?” Derek keeps his eyes locked with Stiles as he kneels down again and places his hands on the forest floor on either side of the trap. Stiles nods and sniffles. His hands twisted together and pressed into his chest. 

“Stiles. Do you trust me?” Derek's voice is calm and even. 

The air smells like peppermints and candy canes and Stiles knows he can and he does. 

“I trust you.” Stiles' voice is small and all too much of a reminder that the boy is only eleven. 

Derek nods and looks down at the trap. There's no way this isn't gonna hurt the younger boy. Derek nods to himself and wraps his hands around either side of the teeth as close to Stiles' leg as he can get.

“Brace yourself on my back.” Derek pats his shoulder keeping his eyes down on the trap. Stiles sniffles and nods his head. Bending at his waist, hands grabbing onto Derek's shoulders and squeezing. 

“On three.” Derek says readjusting his grip on the trap. 

Stiles wonders if he's gonna do the thing where they say three but pull on two.

“One.” Derek's grip tightens to white-knuckled. 

“Two.” He digs his shoes into the ground and tenses his arms.

“Three.” And pulls.

Stiles screams and falls back. His bloody appendage rolling out of the trap. Fat tears are streaming down his face as he curls in on himself. He grabs at his shin above the injury as sobs pour from his chest. He groans and clenches his teeth together rolling onto his other side. Hoping to escape the searing pain. He screams again.

Peter and Talia tear through the trees in the middle of the second scream. 

“What happened?!” Talia yells as her and Peter rush to Stiles side. 

“He was panicking I had to get his leg out.” Derek stutters out his hands shaking. 

“We need to get him to the hospital.” Peter follows it with a string of curses. 

Stiles ends up needing surgery to fix the muscle in his leg that was torn by the trap. Then another when he retears the muscle and a tendon messing around with Scott. The Hales pay for the hospital bills because it was on their property. The trap was set up illegally and there's a whole case against the hunter who did it. 

The Hales are a constant in his hospital room. Peter gets him a gigantic teddy bear the size of a small car and Stiles fucking loves it. Cora punches him in the arm and then hugs him crying not to do that again. Derek stands in the doorway watching his family members hug Stiles and tell him they’re so glad he’s okay. 

Stiles nearly forgets about the whole binding his powers thing. That is until Shannon and Olivia come into his room with flowers and balloons. Stiles tenses and Peter, who is sitting at the foot of his bed watches him. 

“Hello Stiles.” Olivia’s voice is calm and melodic. She waves at him from where she’s stopped at the doorway. Shannon bounces in and ties the balloons to his bed. Putting the flowers on the small nightstand next to the bed. 

Stiles is sitting up in the bed. Hospital clothes swimming on his small body. He’s in the pediatrics wing of the hospital so his room is decorated like a pirate ship. The sheets are white with pirate flags on them. He has a lime green cast on his foot/leg with black sharpie all over it. Peter had been working on drawing a wolf when Shannon and Olivia walked in. 

“Thanks for the flowers Shan, but they mess with my nose.” Stiles clips his nose with his thumb and sniffles. Shannon makes a sound on understanding and nods her head. She grabs the flowers and walks out of the room. Stiles stares at Olivia who won’t meet his eyes. 

“We decided not to bind your powers. For what it’s worth.” Olivia shrugged her shoulder with an apologetic smile. 

“You’re not like any empath we’ve ever heard of.” Peter starts. Olivia moves into the room and sits in the empty chair pulled up to his bedside. Stiles looks from Peter to Olivia then back to the wolf. 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks. His hands lax in his lap. Picking at the skin around his nails. 

“Empath’s are supposed to be able to feel the emotions of those around them. That’s not the case is it.” Peter pokes his bare knee with the sharpie. Stiles shakes his head and purses his lips. 

“It’s more like smell and taste.” Stiles says raising his shoulders high and then dropping. “The stronger the emotion the more overwhelmed I become?” He phrases it as a question. Looking up at Peter. 

“There’s never been an empath recorded in bestiaries nor grimoires with abilities like that. It’s why we don’t think you're powers need to be bound. I think you can handle it.” Peter stresses the word ‘I’ and shoots a glare at Olivia who waves a dismissive hand. 

“Okay.” Stiles nods his head and makes a fish face. 

The room fills with the smell of citrus. Stiles can taste oranges and pineapples.

“Okay.” Stiles nods again and a small smile blooms on his face. 

-

Stiles is twelve when he realizes maybe he is special.

He has plans with Cora and Derek and instead of waiting for them to get home he decides to take a walk in the preserve. It’s a nice day out and there’s an itch under his skin he can’t get rid of. He doesn’t realize how far he’s walked until a new scent fills his senses. One he knows isn’t because of the forest. Stiles looks up and is shocked to see a black cat sitting on a large tree stump, staring at him. 

_“Hello Stiles. It’s good to finally meet you.”_ A voice says. It’s light and soft, feminine. Stiles glances around but he and the cat are the only two in the immediate vicinity. 

“I’ve finally gone crazy.” Stiles drags a hand roughly through his hair and closes his eyes. 

_“You must come to adjust your sense of reality little one.”_ The voice sounds amused and it makes Stiles open his eyes just to narrow them at the cat. 

“I’d like to think I’ve adjusted a lot in the past two years thank you very much.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and puffs up.

 _“If only that were all.”_ She sounds, almost sorry. 

“Who are you?” Stiles squints at the cat.

 _“I believe you will most likely know me by the name Selene. I am the deity who presides over the moon.”_ There's an up tilt to her voice. Like she’s smiling. 

Not even the Hales were a hundred percent sure how their kind came to be and yeah Stiles had heard of her before. Selene goddess of the moon. Which meant Stiles is probably talking to the being who created werewolves. A very _old_ being. One who could probably obliterate him without even blinking. 

_“There is no need to fear me, Stiles. I mean you no harm.”_ She speaks calmly in his mind. 

“Okay, but if you're _Selene_ why are you in the body of a cat?” Stiles scrunches up his face and tilts his head. 

The cat only blinks at him. 

“You’re the goddess of the moon, in a cat’s body. One of those things just doesn’t belong.” Stiles takes a step towards the cat. She stays perched on the tree stump. Tail curling around her paws. 

_“I have many forms young one.”_ Her voice whispers in his mind again. It’s sweet like honey and he smells a field filled with wildflowers. So sweet and fresh. It’s something he’s never smelled before and doesn’t think he will ever again. 

“Why come to me? Your children are a mile that way.” Stiles throws a hand out towards the Hale house. 

She hums before speaking again. The cats' thin black slits of a pupil going even thinner. Golden yellow almost glowing. 

_“You are so very special. It’s not often that I see something new in my life. After living as long as I have, that is.”_ The cat’s tail flicks and the feline stands. 

“New? What does that mean?” Stiles takes another step closer. The scent intensifies. 

_“It’s not often I see a pair like you and the Hale boy. Every time you meet. Every time. I’ve looked through them all and in each time, you two always meet. It’s an inevitable. Something I never accounted for in what I created.”_ The cat hops off the stump and stands at the base. Stepping over roots until she’s cleared the tree. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Stiles shakes his head. The scent she gives off making him dizzy.

 _“It will.”_

And just like that, she’s gone. 

 

**-Fin-**

**Author's Note:**

> check out my collection of Teen Wolf playlists on 8tracks here: https://8tracks.com/naynashayfair/collections/teen-wolf


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